


Owl's Cradle

by shikaku28



Series: Owl's Cradle [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Earth-3, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:48:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26187460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shikaku28/pseuds/shikaku28
Summary: Damian is proud, a trait Owlman does not revere in his tools. If death doesn't teach him a lesson, what will?
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Thomas Wayne Jr.
Series: Owl's Cradle [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901698
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	Owl's Cradle

**Author's Note:**

> This is less of a coherent story and more of an unfortunate collection of headcanons that I didn't elaborate on. With an optional possible sequel that's even less coherent. Good luck.

Damian was looking worse and worse over the coming days. He and Talon hadn’t exactly met on the best of terms- though the man suspected that to be the case for everyone the prideful boy comes in contact with. He wasn’t like Tim, his hatred wasn’t passive by any means. At any opportunity, he would go out of his way to pester and remind that it was him who belonged here and no one else. Though, the telling signs of being less than obedient to Owlman were starting to say otherwise.

Mottled bruises that were starting to overlap, dark eye circles that were from far more active punishments than just lack of sleep, a split lip that just never seemed to heal. At first Richard thought Tim had picked him up as a new form of stress relief, hardly the man’s style but a more plausible option than believing the boy would dare go against the Owl himself. It wasn’t until he stopped by to visit that he got to witness it firsthand.

Talon was typically in and out. He was Owlman’s first and most loyal, still a tad soft but he carries out orders with enthusiasm. He’s been known to take liberties with instructions, so Owlman hardly lets him think for himself when it comes to a mission. But the boy aimed to please and please he did. He had been summoned back for a debriefing, told to line up in order upon arrival. 

The newest addition decided that his place was head of the line. 

Tim said nothing, the way the two are constantly on edge around each other, it’s possible the boy is waiting for the go ahead to put a bullet in him anyway. Richard peered down at him, an almost passive look on his face. There was a tint of confusion and amusement, he was trying very hard to ignore him and seem like he belonged, but Owlman hardly tolerated things out of order.

“I think you missed orientation little bird,” Richard muttered, leaning in to make sure he was heard. Not that it did much, he was bent on tuning him out. “You’re supposed to stand down there, next to Timmy.”

“I will do no such thing.” The sharp voice that bites back is cold and absolute. He has no idea what’s coming. Perhaps he just doesn’t care. He didn’t strike as a masochistic type, or even openly defiant against the powers that be. He was just too proud for his own good. Richard’s gut twists as he dredges up awful similarities to Jason. Tim, uncannily close to reading his mind, gives a low huff without even sparing a glance. “I give him another month.”

Richard spends a few more attempts trying to get him to  _ fucking move, please kid _ to no avail. Damian remains rooted to his belief that he leads the line now and everyone straightens up when Owlman enters.

Wordlessly, he walks down the line, handing out uniforms, until he gets to the end of the line with a spare uniform and no small Talon to receive it. He looks up from the tablet he’d been scrutinizing to turn and find him standing before Richard instead of after Tim, having missed him before because he  _ wasn’t supposed to be there _ . 

“ **What are you doing?** ” The Owl asks in a slow and precise manner, making sure he is unmistakably clear. There’s no right answer to this question, but refusing it could mean even worse things. Richard gulps down a breath he’s holding, Tim’s normally glazed and passive stare turns to something more curious and possibly even amused.

“I’m taking my place at the head of the line, Sir,” Damian speaks as confident as ever, hardly reading the room. There’s not an ounce of remorse in his voice, it’s unsure at this point if he can even feel such a thing. Richard turns away in secondhand embarrassment, it hurt to hear but it will hurt worse to feel what’s coming while the ever composed Tim shook with a laugh he didn’t dare let escape.

Owlman backtracked, still holding onto the uniform he had planned to hand out to the third of them. Instead of gifting him the fabric draped over his arm, in one swift motion Damian had been given claw marks down the half of his face. He falls to one knee with a gasp, when he looks back up three lines are welling with blood. “A reminder of where you stand,” the deep voice says absolutely. Equally quickly, Owlman drags him closer, lifting him by his neck so he’s level with the ominous goggle eyelets. The mask doesn’t give way to much facial expression, but the snarl in the tone was more than enough indication.

“You will do as  _ I _ say and  _ only _ as I say. I am not training you to  _ think _ . I am training you to  _ follow _ . You wish to be an extension of me, but you can hardly follow instructions and you are a trouble at every turn. If you keep trying to make choices I will give you the opportunity to make one and it’s how many more breaths you will be allowed to take,” He punctuates his final threat with a squeeze and Damian squirms, blood dripping down his face and pooling on the man’s glove.

He writhes until his father is satisfied and finally he is dropped, not daring to try to get up. A sharp “Clean up this  _ mess _ ,” is heard in the distance of a world going in and out on him. Richard scoops him up and presses him close, not sure where to take him but the bathroom may be a start. Before he gets out, Owlman's temper continues to flare. A harsh “ _ Neither _ of you were going to correct him??” There's a pause in his step and his voice catches in his throat. He turns to look behind him, catching Tim's matching golden eyes for a fraction of a second. He always had trouble reading what was behind them, but it doesn't matter. Richard is good at taking punishment. He says nothing and continues forward with Damian, a sharp swear under his breath.

Talon takes him out of the cave, careful to keep clean the dripping blood so it misses the carpet and walls. He tries to see if he can run into Pennyworth to hand the boy off, but if he doesn't want to be found, he's not going to be. Richard sets the boy on the toilet seat and looks over himself in the mirror, noting the three streaks of blood on his torso. Rough. He turned back to the little one and kicked out a bottle of alcohol to put on the wound. He didn't deserve the luxury of a gentle touch, his obstinance really brought the situation on himself. He hardly flinched at the slight sting of the wound, it wasn't until Richard accidentally dripped it in his eye that he really began to writhe in pain. For a brief moment he almost felt bad, an apology forming on his lips. He's shoved away though, a biting “I don't need your help!” In an attempt to send him off. “You  _ need _ stitches,” Richard huffed, thumbing at the wound and smearing the blood not slowing. 

“Don't touch me!!” Comes another yell, a slight voice crack at the volume and Richard realizes now he was crying. He hadn't seen tears in so long, he forgot what it felt like to be a child. That was part of Owlman's conditioning of course, if he saw tears it only made him angrier. Richard stands from where he'd been awkwardly kneeling over the boy, trying to press him into the toilet seat so he'd stop moving. Trying to get stitches in the squirming boy was only going to prove useless for both of them. So he conceded and left. Owlman was doling out punishment anyway and he couldn't let Tim have all the fun.

When he made it back to the cave in a hurry, it felt like he'd been gone an hour. In reality it was closer to five minutes, but his Master was still raving. Every second that Richard was gone likely only made him more upset. Tim was hardly any fun to kick around after all. He never made any noise, face never changed, just stored away all the information behind his steel trap of a mind.

“You!” Talon heard and his heart fluttered, already expecting the pain to follow. “Yes sir?” He asked, trying to keep the excitement off his face, though it certainly trilled in his tone. He's lifted by his shirt and tossed next to Tim, who was lying on his side with the same blank stare and thin pressed lips. Pinpricks of blood decorated his shoulder, showcasing the grip on him. A swollen cheek and blood drying along his chin was evidence of his failure to speak. Richard would be flattered if he wasn't well aware he was going to have to pay for Tim's “loyalty” in some form later.

“Damian is now your responsibility. Both of you,” Thomas folds his arms, still calming from his rage. Tim sits up quickly, a million protests running through his mind and a million and one threats to match. Even Richard's shoulders tense in denial. Owlman pauses to give them a chance to speak, but all that follows is a mangled “Yes, sir.” in unison, choked out around forming lumps in their throats. “That's what I thought. I trained both of you and Jason. I know you each had your own issues with him. If you don't want a repeat, I suggest you do your job correctly. That means every bullet I want to put between his eyes, is a bullet for each of you. And so help me, if you kill him,” the look is directed at Tim, whose brain has already started working at top speed to get out of this as succinctly as possible, “I will carve you cell by fucking cell until I feel I've been reimbursed for every penny I spent on him. He is worth more than both of your lives, you'd do well to remember that. Do I make myself clear?”

The two weapons stare at the ground, not caring to look at each other. They didn't ask for Damian and they don't need him. He's been a burden since he got here and he won't bend to either of them.

“ **_Well?_ ** ” The harsh voice shakes the cave and stirs the owls who had just settled down. “Yes, sir!” The heads snap up and once more reply in unison. “Good,” he snatches back the uniforms. “You'll be back here at the end of the week. If he doesn't do  _ everything  _ right-- you know how much I  _ hate _ being disobeyed.” Even Richard manages a small swallow at the chilling tone. Despite his lust for pain and pleasure, Owlman is still terrifying and will still replace him should he fail to deliver on his original purpose. That is the thought that often keeps him in line. 

They’re dismissed and from there Tim disappears. It’s the fastest Richard has ever seen him move- or not seen rather. It should probably give him some form of concern, but he’s too disappointed to care. The Talon attempts to stay behind and coax some form of the promised punishment out of his master, but the eyes that used to rake over him with a predatory hunger when he was a boy are gone. Now he’s just another tool.

He does what he always does when he’s wandering around the manor without a form of entertainment, and slips into Owlman’s bedroom to masturbate. The man rarely spends extensive time outside of his cave, but when he does come and go it’s in and out of his room. The smell of him on his sheets and his vain pictures posted around the room to fill the frames that were emptied once he killed off his real family. It was enough for Richard as he fantasized about being ground into these very covers.

Cock in hand, cum on shirt, and coming down from the blissful high, Richard is shaken back to reality by the sudden notice of sounds coming from not that far away. He strips out of the stained clothing as it still had Damian’s blood on it from earlier. With a sigh, he rights himself and slips out to investigate already moving into stealth mode. Whatever could it be? A barrage of ideas is already assaulting his head, each one ending in an unfortunate mess that would have to be explained to Owlman. He pauses at the actual scene however.

The smell of blood hits him before he begins to decipher the voices- well just one voice mostly.

Tim.

Richard’s stomach already drops as he turns the corner. Apparently he arrives just in time to see Alfred break up the scene, but it’s only too obvious what’s happened. It wasn’t exactly left to imagination.

Damian lies in the middle of the hallway unmoving, his blood coating the place like a redecoration gone wrong. Tim wears the rest of it like the culprit he is. He’s pinned to the wall lightly by Alfred’s cane, face still a blood curdling passive that might have made Richard sick if he found himself on the shit list. He really does look like Owlman. The butler’s hunched form gives him a warning stare that even Tim knew not to defy before stepping over to roughly prod at the boy on the ground. He daren’t even twitch right now, any little movement may set him off again. “He’s still breathing,” Alfred speaks, and two sets of eyes fall on the Talon as if cleaning up this mess is his responsibility. By all accounts it might as well be. This was so not on his agenda for the day, but Owlman’s words echo in his ears and he clearly puts more stock into them than the other who just beat his master’s most prized possession to half a bloody pulp.

The Talon scoops up the blood-ridden body, tossing it over his shoulder carelessly. He stirs, coherent enough to make noise- no, words. But not without coughing up a heavy load of blood. Richard shudders, feeling it all run down his back and laments the already stained shirt he left behind in Owlman’s room. “Let… Go…” He forces out through what has to be incredible pain. Richard knows a crushed pipe when he hears one, he’s crushed enough to know. This kid is proud to his death, Talon will give him that much. Admirable and yet still so foolish. He doesn’t bother to grace him with a response, but that only encourages him to continue. Each disgusting hack of air and fluids from his collapsing lungs causes Richard to wince and tighten his grip a bit harder, hoping the pain would just put him under, until finally he’s dropping Damian on a cold, hard metal table in a dark and sterile room. The fall winds him and he finally cuts to silence, though that may be less of a choice and more of his sudden inability to breathe, if his gaping mouth was anything to go by. “Deep breath kid,” Richard says mockingly as he stands over him, a terrible glint in his eye, “It only gets worse from here.” 

Many nightmares were had about this very room. The sickeningly sterile smell of the place and sounds that echoed and multiplied in the vast emptiness. It was Owlman’s ‘day care’ he called it. Where broken toys come to be fixed. Richard had to admit whenever he was dragged into this room, he left better than new. But between the invasive tools, burning chemicals, and god- the way the eyes from those goggles stared down at him. Owlman was the only one that ever entered and operated in this room- even Alfred was only left to a simple first aid kit for minor emergencies- in here he might as well have been a monster.

It was really something different being on the other side of the table however. Once Richard grew into his masochistic streak, he snuck in here on occasion when he was feeling more… lonely than usual. He still only knew about half of what most of this shit did. But he knew enough to help Damian. He knew enough to tell him that it wasn’t going to feel good. Owlman concocted his own healing agent. A churning green liquid, kept in a gallon sized container with too many nozzles. It worked like a dream, but at the expense of feeling like boiling acid. Also it had to come in contact with every inch that it was supposed to be healing, meaning internal wounds needed dousing as well.

Richard, already covered in the boy’s blood, hardly bothered with the formality of gloves and other such frivolous protective equipment. Instead he opened up the green fluid, the smell of alcohol permeating the room as if he just spilled it everywhere. Despite the soon to be burning sensation, the stuff was actually kept very cold. The wonders of modern- albeit very illegal- medicine. Forgoing the use of an actual container, he splashes a hefty amount across the boy, pain setting in immediately. If Owlman were here, he would have reprimanded Richard for using such an expensive treatment so carelessly- among other things of course. But right now, all that fills Talon’s ears is screams.

As soon as the stuff came in contact with the open wound, a sweet smell filled the air, contrasting the hideous burning and bubbling sight that spurred a strange blackening reddish green color. Like Christmas but on fire. Damian shot up, vision whiting as all he knew in the moment was pain. Searing, flaming, burns lapping at his skin. He didn’t have the lung capacity to justify the sound, but that didn’t seem to stop his hollering. Not that it mattered. A second dose followed as close to immediately afterwards as possible and he could feel it running down his throat, choking him and torturing him inside and out. He hadn’t even realized he was laying down again, he couldn’t _feel_ _anything_ but pain. The world ceased to exist outside of the torture, too shocking to even start crying again.

It went on for what felt like days, during periods he would black out, only to come back to more pain. He was sure he kept screaming, but he couldn’t really tell. At first he became acutely aware of each injury and it’s extent on his body, but as time drew on his leg could have been amputated and stitched back together and he never would have known.

Richard was having a different kind of experience, it was his first time on the other end of the table after all. After the first dose, the boy shot up quickly and he had to pin him back down. There were no straps on the table, Richard and Tim being too well behaved to move and Jason- well Jason required… independent restraints. So Talon was forced to keep an arm over him as he forced another splash down his throat, trickling into his nose and eyes. The stuff burned his skin too, even though he had no open wounds, but he was hardly fazed as he didn’t take anywhere near the brunt of it. The screaming of the boy put a smile on Talon’s face, rush of adrenaline kicking in. He thought back to all the lives he’s ended, the drawn out scenes of playing with his prey. Everyone has different sounds of protest, even screams drawn in fear versus pain had different intonations. In experience he’d learned to tell the difference between the sounds and it worked wonders in interrogations. But in the boy on the table, there was no fear in his voice, only pain in the cries he sounded to no one. Richard found it downright fascinating. Damian truly was a special case. It would have been nice to know him at another time and place. Maybe sparring him when he had more training. When he was under a different master. But here, it only spelled trouble for everyone involved.

When the elder got tired of pinning Owlman’s newest toy to the table, he took a step back to watch the healing agents work it’s magic over the injuries. In something akin to a zamboni for flesh it would burn away the areas it touched and regrow the skin and muscle anew. It really was a miracle worker, if it weren’t so blatantly unethical, and it worked fast. But Tim had done a good bit of damage, likely careless in his efforts relying on the fact that Owlman’s loyal bitch would save the day just in time. At least he could consider his earlier debt repaid.

Richard’s hands found themselves prying over the small body, trying to get a glimpse over each injury before it was restitched out of existence. He had no qualms with peeling back all the layers of clothing, soaked through with blood and mystery healing acid, and dropping them to the floor. He recreated the fight in his mind as he raked over, curiously:

Blunt force, but ultimately broken- if not shattered- forearms. The boy put up a half decent fight, but he was doomed from the beginning. Streaks of knife wounds all over, varying sizes- Tim doesn’t carry knives, not as his first choice, so they must have already been on Damian who didn’t hesitate to try and use them. Richard can’t imagine he got very far. He counts at least six before he moves on. Everything below the knees are broken. He either tried to fight, or he tried to run. The little that’s known of Damian discounts the latter. While Richard enjoyed a good chase, Tim has little tolerance for it. He’s briefly worried about how well that will heal, Owlman usually having to perform an invasive surgery to remedy such an issue. He’ll find out soon he supposes. Finally his eyes fall on the chest, rampant with torn tissue and blackened bruises, quickly lightening in color. These weren’t done with any sort of weapon, just good, old-fashioned two hands and a lot of rage. Tim wanted this to hurt. 

And hurt it did. In fact the boy was still thrashing about, though at least his screaming had died down to a loud, panting groan that only really escaped his throat whenever he moved too far. When he squirmed himself right off the table, Richard thought for sure he’d start crying again. But no, he just curled in on himself and continued to ride out the pain, not registering much of anything anymore. 

This much was made obvious when Richard lifted him up, naked body hanging limply like a cat. His eyes were open, but Damian could not see him. He seemed to relax into the touch, though subconsciously, his body yearned for something-  _ anything _ that wasn’t  _ hot burning boiling bubbling searing disaster on his skin _ . Richard sneered. This is the boy that has taken his place. The young face that his master is obsessed with. What is it about the little ones that he finds so much more captivating than himself? What do they have that he doesn’t? Jason had been in his Master’s room almost every night. Even Tim visited him frequently when there was still life in his eyes. (Little Timmy hadn’t always been dead- surprise surprise).

“Is it the genitalia en miniature?” He asks aloud to himself, trailing a hand, still caked in drying blood, over the smaller cock. “Fatter features that they’ll grow into?” He continues, pinching roughly at his cheek and pulling harder than necessary. A pained whine follows the rough pull of his skin. “You’ll grow to look just like him. You really will,” he sighs only slightly envious. “I wish I knew,” He leans onto the table, sprawled over the young one, close enough to radiate warmth but still just out of reach. He watches him writhe close to the source without ever fully reaching it. “I’d be better for him. Do anything for him. But he won’t look at me the same. Not the way he’ll look at  _ you, _ ” he tone is full of disdain as he trails slender fingers through short dark hair, but he can’t find it in him to be really angry at the boy. There  _ is _ something endearing about him. 

He stands up again, lifting him like a child. Immediately, Damian curls close, head resting on his shoulder like it’s always belonged there. His groans of pain stop and he quiets to soft whimpering instead. Richard leans against the table and bounces him softly like a baby. “It’s going to be a long week for you,” he tilts his chin up to talk once more to that blank stare, “Timmy’s not going to make it any easier. But I am at least interested in seeing you behave without breaking. There’s something… p- powerful in knowing you will fold to me without the threat of cutting you open.” He falters at the word. Richard is loyal, yes. He would do anything for his master. He’s not so much interested in running the Court of Owls as he is standing beautifully in the spotlight and being adored by all. A circus boy, through and through. “You will be my Master’s, yes. But you will answer to me,” His smile grows fond as he rubs his back slowly, “He is expecting great work of me after all.” Talon sets the boy down again, leaning in to kiss him- a small press to his forehead. But he draws back quickly as if burned. “But you are my Master’s toy first and foremost,” his head bows as if Owlman stands before him. With a small scowl at himself, he turns on his heel and leaves to go clean up and pick something else up for Damian to wear. He’ll finish this later, if memory serves from his own time in this room- or at least if Owlman didn’t lie to him, he will be out for another half an hour, fifteen minutes if he recovers really fast despite the pain.


End file.
